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AND OTHER POEMS 





Copyright 1915 

Angelus Publishing Go. 

Chicago, 111. 



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Angelus Publishing Co. 
Chicago, 111. 







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Page 

Leo Gregory "^ 

The Kaiser ' 



Nina 



12 



The Sheriff 13 

Cleopatra ^^ 

War 16 

My Mother 20 

Horace, Ode I, Book I : Maecenas 21 

Uncle Henry 23 

First Meeting of Caonabo and Anacoana 24 

Anacoana 27 

Leogane 28 

Haiti 30 

Mother's Prayer 31 

The German Airman 33 

Ruth And Erin 34 

A Letter 40 

Father Ryan Suspended 41 

The Human 43 

Not Hypocrite, But Human 44 

Catherine 46 



Into a tissue of remembered things. 

He weaves the moonbeams and the threads of mist; 

And colors it with sweet imaginings. 

Cloudy embroideries, — by sunset kissed: 

He sees among the dew-drops on the ferns 

The fleeting prototype of children's tears; 

And in the music of the running, burns 

The pent-up laughter of a thousand years: 

Along the dear familiar paths, he knows 

The sigh that marks the crossing of the way; 

The dreams that haunt the petals of the rose; 

And all the wonders of a quiet day: 

So glide away the years of minstrelsy, — 

The magic of his boundless fantasy! 



H.H. 



5[t|0 KnxBn 



Hail to the Kaiser, virile captain king! 

Red-blooded men admire; imperial mien; 

In mind, in heart, physique, developed roundly; 

Spouse, wife must love, intuiting him true; 

A sire of sons and daughter who feel proud 

To call him father, — worship next to God; 

A king regarding sceptre instrument 

Of Providence to succor fellowmen; 

Self-confident; and fully trusting them 

Who call him Kaiser. 

Conscious, peace the norm 
Of life, the atmosphere of progress, long 
His hand restrained in leach the dogs of war. 
With parent divination, he prepared 
His children to defend the home they love. 
Not his intention to encourage war: — 
Ambition was to make them perfect men 
And women. And he did. In science, art 
And literature, the envy of the world. 

The German, from the marrow, democrat, 
Whom subtle Greeks with nicety defined 
The people's highest concept of a man; 
Most independent of the sons of earth; 
Accepts no truth, untried by reason: God 
Himself he would not own, nor would obey. 
Did not conviction tell him bow his head. 
You cannot herd the German, nor stampede; 
He follows blindly no king, how much loved. 
To him the state is only means to end: — 
The end, the weal of individual men. 

This core-deep independence, unrestrained, 
For centuries divided Teuton strength. 
Von Bismarck sired United Germany! 
Yet great as Chancellor, sublime his work. 
The youthful Kaiser's genius, greater still: 
The former's task, to make the Germans one; 
The Kaiser planned to make his people great. 

9 



Accomplishment, surpassing William's dream! 
Germanic culture hath produced a man 
Whose like admiring world had never seen: — 
The German spirit, — latest, rarest gem 
Queen Nature, in most royal mood, bestowed: — 
When deftly faceted, like Kohinoor, 
World will acclaim intrinsic greater worth. 

In one detail alone, the Kaiser erred: — 

He failed to fully utilize the press, 

That molds the public conscience of the world. 

His wily foes aimed first to mask the crime 

Premeditated in the mien of right. 

For years, they libelled him embodiment 

Of force, a despot driving slaves, a czar 

Who fancied his caprice the will of God. 

Effect: the world imagines Kaiser mad! 

America, desirous to be fair, — 

Her citizens from every clime on earth, — 

Deems Kaiser half insane with lust of power. 

Paretic planning conquest of the globe! 

The British envy William The Superb! 

They are themselves of royal stock. The proof, 

The empire they have built. Since lordly Rome, 

No other race hath wrought such miracle: — 

Excelling even Caesars in the art 

Of ruling men. Excepting Erin's isle, 

They rule their colonies with wisdom; law 

Is synonym of British sovereignty; 

Where flag of England flies, men feel secure; 

Four centuries, Britannia rules the sea; 

King George today, earth's premier potentate. 

In Lucifer, God's first, best work, — a rift: 
In Adam, spirit breathed in slime, — was sin: 
With virtues regal, — umbra, — gross defects: — 
Insatiate greed of gold that steels the heart. 
And assays manhood as it assays dirt: 
The brazen geat of wealth and power, — pride; 
Twin-littered luxury's finis, slavering drool; 
Delusion, gold equivalent of men; 
Mistake which Carthage made in war with Rome: — 
In battle front, two thousand miles, how brief 
A trench is held by sons of English soil: 
Colonials are loyal? — Aye, but state 
That must rely on alien blood, however leal. 
Vicissitudes of time disintegrate. 

10 



This war is England's essay to destroy 

The younger of two rivals, Germany. 

Her dream, — when that fair realm hath ceased to be, — 

To hurl a hemisphere against her foe 

Historic, — ganjah-drugged with subtle art: — 

Mistaking stupor for security: — 

Narcotic senses hearing song of birds 

In roar of war-planes, fancying school of dolphins, 

Myriad hellish brood of submarines. 

Attacked on every side, doth Kaiser quail? 
Not he. Serene he sits upon his throne. 
Bulwarked strongly by loyal German hearts. 
That cause is just, his faith; prays help of God, 
Trusts Teuton valor, training, brain and brawn. 

God rules supreme. His providence in turn 
Exalts each race; — assigns to each the role 
Suggested by its genius, aim, and will, and work. 

The Teuton David fights the British giant: 

Combats lion threatening his fold. 

As Saul, who envied that youth's prowess, sensed 

In him successor to his crown and throne, 

In hate once flashed a spear at David's heart: — 

So Britain, envious of superior race. 

By Heaven augured to play grander role, — 

To crush her rival, leagueth half mankind. 

The issue? History will repeat itself. 
Victoria's Jubilee was highest peak 
Of England's glory. Since that hour, decline. 
The crown of Saul shall pass to Jesse's son. 

Old Ocean, England's former, chief ally. 
Now harbours Teuton terror, submarine! 
The air is Zeppelin's; and from the skies 
Germania surely threats Britannia's doom. 

The English lord, the last aristocrat. 

Hath played his part, the hero of the past. 

The German democrat advances. He 

Plays leading role in future. World hath need 

Of culture which could build that prince of men. 

The modern German, human masterpiece, 

Incarnate spirit of democracy! 

Then hail to the Kaiser, manly leader of men; 
Enthroned genius of the German race: — 
Ideal of the age! — The Democrat! 

LEO GREGORY 

Jun« IS. 1916. 

11 



•Nina 



Crude instruments, electric, tuned. 
Though far as pole from pole apart. 
Can flash each other messages: — 
In tune, heart speaketh unto heart. 



LEO GREGORY. 

Elgin, III.. 1913. 



IX 



®lj^ i^lj^nff 



It was Christmas Eve, and the wind blew cold, 

And the snow was drifting high: 
Not a ray of sun that long, sad day 

Had brightened the leaden sky. 

"The sheriff will soon be here, sweetheart. 
And we must part with the team." 

And the young farmer sat in the gathering gloom. 
Like a man who was lost in a dream. 

A knock at the door!— The sheriff strode in: — 

"It is bitterly cold," he said. 
"We've been expecting you all day long: — 

The team is tied in the shed." 

"I hate to take the horses away: — 

I'm simply doing my duty." 
Then he glanced at a laughing babe in the crib: — 

"Well, isn't she a beauty!" 

He picked up Margaret, the baby girl. 

And dandled her on his knee: — 
"Your golden curls and big blue eyes 

Recall a sweet image to me." 

He sat by the fire for half an hour. 

Caressing and kissing the child; 
And the baby danced and laughed in glee, 

Till even the father smiled. 

The sheriff stood up and put on his cap. 
And buttoned his great fur coat: — 

"I want to play Santa to baby tonight: — 
Keep the team; and I'll settle the note." 



LEO GREGORY, 

Nov. 7:i910. 



13 



(Slropatra 



She prisms Egypt's glory: thousand kings 
And queens, — heart, wit and beauty, render toll: 
The lusty Nile's romances fire her soul; 
The minstrelsy of the earth's primetide sings 
In her sweet voice: about, on mystic wings 
Flit nature's optic phantoms: billows roll 
O'er wastes of sand: mirages promise goal 
To home-sick pilgrim: desert darkness flings 
Envenomed menaces: beside her throne, 
That Hebrew spirit who gave man his law: 
Attendant courtiers, — Letters, Science, Art; 
The Sphynx and Cheopes, — man's pride in stone! 
Her smile makes Antony deem sceptre, straw! 
He throws away a world, to win her heart! 



LEO GREGORY 

Elgin, III., June 22. 1915. 



14 



All nature is at war. From spirit-rare 

Prime matter of queen Ether, — in whose eyes, 

The sunbeam flameth fire-brand: heat waves roll 

Phospher moulten argent billows of South Sea: 

The lightning flash, an adder striking foe: — 

Through all ascending hierarchies: from clod 

To plant, to beast, — to earth's crown-jewel, man; 

All creatures are at war. This side the realm 

Of spirit, existence meaneth constant strife 

Of elements discordant: nowhere peace 

In all the vast circumference of time. 

The end they seek is union with their kind: 

To mate desire, these elements must fight 

Their way through hosts inimical in long drawn 

Battle. Merry throngs at Mardi Gras 

Are suddenly transformed to frenzied mob. 

At thoughtless cry of "Fire!" A man will rush 

A fury, searching for his spouse; and she 

Will scream hysteric, calling to her child: 

The lover raves a maniac till he clasps 

His promised bride. Even happy boy, and girl 

In blushing teens, cry out for mother! Such 

A struggle Science views in universe. 

Each atom seeks its like: to compass which, 

Long intervening conflict. From the morn 

Of time till eve, is warfare. Trump of doom,— 

Completion of the circle, — union, — peace! 

The life of every human soul is war. 
One pair in Eden sired all tribes of men: 
Their offspring in essentials are alike; 
In accidentals, differ. Biography 
Of parents we can read in characters 
Of children: ecstacy of honey-moon 
In one; another, melancholy calm 
Soft shadowing delirium of joy; 
A son displays clear mind, strong will for work; 
This nymph, abandon of a season's play; 
Yon child betrays misfortune, sickness, grief; 
This one, the smile of heaven, — health and hope; 
Last, sympathy and poise of chastened years. 

15 



Mankind is only larger family: 

Alike in all essentials of the human, 

Differing as children, in detail. 

The Greeks excelled in subtle intellect; 

The Romans builded empire, codexed justice; 

Jew and Celt see visions, speak with Gk>d; 

Italia's sons, incarnate muses' choir; 

The Sons of Clovis, flower of chivalry; 

The Briton, peer of Pompey, ruling men; 

The Nipponese, the new-birthed Orient! 

God hath a plan: His aim, the greatest good 
Of humankind. In every age, that race 
Whose genius fits His purpose best. 
He giveth leading part on stage of life. 

Though man be god-like, he reveals the clay 
Component in his framing; vice is twinned 
With virtue, error masketh truth, and wrong 
In garb of right deceiveth honest will. 
His sin-dulled ear confoundeth demon's voice 
With oracle divine. The best of men 
Deem conscientious duty, to oppose 
Each other. Hence are wars. 

Yet God who made 
Man, understands. The ancient seers who held 
Converse with Him, ycleped Him "God of Hosts." 
He is. God loveth warriors cordially. 
He hovers calm as dove o'er battle field; 
He heeds the vows of rival combatants; 
And shadows loving benisons on both. 
In spite of incidental, unintentioned 
111 effects, He sees them further plan 
His love devised for their net betterment. 

High-dowered intellects in every age 
Have kenned this esoteric crypt of Providence: 
The masses, even, sense it; for they smile 
Assent when poet voices their dumb thought. 

Not peace, but war, the norm of human life. 
Weak souls imagine stagnancy is peace: 
Their counterfeit is China's bane, a drug 
Beclouding intellect, benumbing will. 
We fear for man in coma: health is shamed 
For yielding to allurements of soft down. 

16 



To superficial only, war is hell. 
Hell is pit dug by paracidal Pride. 
War is sublimest striving toward a goal: 
Great heart's essay to realize ideal; 
That what he deemeth justice may prevail. 
Earth's annals clearly teach just war is good: 
Not war for lust of carnage, conquest, hate, 
Or envy, or revenge: but weal of state 
Demands the sword repel unjust attack; 
Avenge injustice done: — intention pure. 
And prudent king will train his sons to war: 
Defenselessness provoketh hostile thrust. 

Whine not that war spells wounds, disease and death. 
Friend, those things are not evils in themeslves. 
To soul, grace-dowered with faith and hope and love, 
Death visions soaring pinions unto peace. 
And they who weeping pray at soldier's grave. 
Rise better men and women. Now they know 
With surer faith than argument can give. 
There is a better world: marconigrams 
From spirit world assure them all is well. 

Disease and suffering in wake of war? 
Pain evil? No! It may be ecstacy! 
A Lawrence bade them turn him on the grill, 
That he might feel new tortures! 

Look ye there! 
The angel of the battlefield, a Nun, 
Or Nightingale! To fuse a gem so pure, 
Ask soldier, doth he reck his wounds high price! 
And look ye here ! A soldier's widow writhes 
In agony of parturition! Doth she quail 

At pain? She feels, but bears.— An infant's cry! 

Behold the martyr's rapture in her face! 
The myrtle and the balsam in pain's tears! 

So state that suffers agonies of war, 
Forgeteth soon war's ills concomitant. 
In joy of liberty new-born to her; 
Or tyranny deposed from power; or throne 
That envious rivals threatened, made secure; 
Rebellious sons whipped Into loyalty. 

17 



Like hurricane, war cleareth atmosphere, 
Restoreth balance of the elements. 
Successful war rejuvenates a race; 
Arouses faculties to highest pitch 
Of action. War correctly summed, is good. 

This vastest, most destructive of all wars. 
Presages dawn of golden age, whose like 
The world hath never known. Before we die. 
We men of middle age shall wondering view 
A world regenerate beyond our hopes. 

This war shall relegate aristocrat 
To minor role. The democrat shall rule, 
Speak nobler lines than rival ever dreamed; 
The democrat, with nature's mind and heart; — 
All humans his dear brothers, sisters, — wear 
They crown, or humbly till they fertile field. 

By nature, man is social, not isolate. 

Men must unite for individual weal. 

Best form of government, a native growth, 

Not foreign frame, in theory more perfect. 

State must have a head: the title borne 

By him who rules, a mere detail. Heed not 

The name: the substance view: or president, 

Or king, or czar, — what matter? — But we must 

Obey executive enforcing law: 

For law is essenced wisdom of good men. 

Sincerest democrat on earth is one 

Who loveth title. Emperor: yet he, — 

Imperial majesty personified, — 

Is democrat from sole to tip of plume 

That graces helmet; democrat from pith 

Of manly heart to fingers toying sword: — 

A simple human brother: all men kin: — 

The savant, or lone fisherman at sea. 

No huntsman on the hills, or orphaned waif, 

But feels caressing sympathy of king. 

18 



When this world-war Is done, shall we forget 

That triumph of democracy was won 

By emperor? Deluded demagogue, 

Regarding trifles, blind to substances. 

May seek divorce twixt king and commons. Strike 

Him dead! The state must have a head. Mince not 

About the title he may fancy, — king 

Or emperor, — the merest bagatelle! 

Ask this one question: Is he democrat? 

This war shall make man give his mother's sex 

The right by nature hers: equality 

In law. God made man male and female; one; 

Each complement of other; man complete 

In both; — Imperfect otherwise. She is 

His equal: God's design: her duties, those 

Implied by different sex: to mother sons 

And daughters; train them; make man home, 

Where strain and stress of strife may be forgot. 

His nerve be braced by tonic of her love. 

Assuming human nature. Son of God 

Did not disdain conception in a woman's womb, 

Though He dispensed with seed of human sire: 

Nine months he nestled there, drank from her heart 
The blood He shed on cross, redeeming world: 

Took flesh of her to host our hungry souls, 

Flesh glorified upon eternal throne! 

From woman's heart, He learned to know and love 

The human, — new experience to God! 

Beholding crib of Bethlehem, man comprehends 

The seer: "A child shall lead them." Yea, Christ-child 

Leads woman to her throne beside the king's. 

LEO GREGORY, 

Elgin. III., June 30, 1915' 



u 



Mu Mat\}tt 



I am a man, and proud of sex; yet one 
Who gave me birth, and suckled me, and taught 
Me truth and virtue, was a woman: naught 
That I take pride in, or men praise, were done, 
Had not a mother trained me, bade me shun 
The path of sin. It was a woman brought 
Me to the pinnacle on which I wrought 
My masterpiece. A woman's love begun 
Vibrations that now shine as truth to light 
The world, and flame in love for human kind; 
Inspiring now, a woman's love, — none other: — 
It spurs my soul to dare sublimest height: 
When painting perfect beauty, still I find 
My fancy limns a vision of my mother. 

LEO GREGORY. 

Elgin. III. Jun»22. 1915. 



20 



®ra«0lattnn nf (^ht 1, 

Maecenas, worthy son of noble sires, 

At once my patron and dear friend, it fires 

The blood of youth, Olympic dust to raise, 

And rein the dashing steeds, 'mid shouts of praise, 

To shun the goal with flashing chariot wheels, 

And fly the dust that hindermost conceals. 

Such men, a wreath of ivy-leaves will turn 

To Gods, and cause their swelling hearts to bum 

With godlike emulation. Men there are. 

If fickle Roman favor stretch so far 

That unto triple honors, they may rise. 

Would walk most truly great in their own eyes. 

Another is rejoiced, if he can store 

The golden grain from Lybia's threshing floor. 

The happy swain, content to till the farm 

His father tilled, who loves the simple charm 

Of quiet country life, could not be moved 

For regal wealth to leave his home beloved, 

And with a fearful heart, to tempt the deep. 

Within whose caves so many victims sleep. 

When round his bark, the winds and waters wage 

Ominous war with elemental rage, 

The merchant, homeward bound with precious freight, 

Doth dread capricious and all-ruling fate; 

And praises much the quiet and retreat 

He hopes to find in his far country seat: 

Yet poverty untutored to sustain. 

He rigs his shattered barks for sea again. 

With good old massic, sparkling in the bowl. 

Another man delights his genial soul : 

His early revels often are begun 

Ere half his course, fleet Phoebus yet hath run. 

Now by some sacred fountain, is he laid. 

Now stretched beneath the green arbutus shade. 

For some the tented field, the life in camp. 

The wild forade, the legion's heavy tramp. 

Abrupt command, the thrilling trumpet blast. 

The battle cry, the war steed charging past, 

21 



The deadly onset and the clash of arms, 

Have for their martial spirit sterner charms. 

Diana's votary, the chill night through, 

Will oft remain beneath the falling dew, 

Unmindful of his patient, loving spouse. 

Should but his dogs a timorous hind arouse. 

Or Marsian boar, that, crashing through the toils. 

Escapes the net, and every effort foils. 

Such pleasures I have never known; rather, 

I love the shady groves, and low sweet tune 

Of dancing nymphs and satyrs in fair June. 

My joy is full, if but Euterpe will 

To lend me flute, and Polyphemia still 

Refuses not to strike the Lesbian lyre, 

And fill my soul with her poetic fire. 

If on my brow you place the lyric bays, 

I feel a God! — so proud of that high praise. 

LEO GREGORY. 
St. V(aC«ur'( CoU<s«. Kankakt*. lU.. 1882. 



22 



"Uncle Henry," cried little Violet, 

"Come, look at my Christmas tree!— 
Why do you come here on Christmas? 

Have you no baby like me? 

"My papa says you're a General, 

Famous in every land; 
And why you should be unhappy, 

He cannot understand." 

"I once had a home like this, my dear, — 

I once had a Violet, too; 
'And we always had a Christmas tree, — 

And my darling looked like you. 

"My Violet and her mamma died 

A great many years ago: — 
Uncle Henry has had no home since then, 

And Christmas means only snow. 

"That's why I come here on Christmas, 

When there are no battles to fight; — 
Your kiss and caress bring back happy days!— 

That's why I came here tonight. 

"In all the battles I fought these years, 

I saw the same foe everywhere: — 
I was fighting the demon oppressing my sou^ 

I was fighting the demon Despair! 

"I was only a captain then, sweetheart, 

I am head of the army, now; 
And the world believes I value 

The laurels on my brow. 

"My dear little, sweet little angel! 

I have rank and fame, 'tis true; 
But tonight I would cheerfully part with them both, 

For the baby who looked like you." 

LEO GREGORY, 

JuUi 1. 1910. 

23 



Jtrst m^rttug of Anaroana 
ani Qiaanabn 

Xaragua's king, a sleepless night had passed, 

His mind a prey to fears. The hurricane 

Had wrought great havoc over all the land; 

His city was in ruins; royal palms 

By scores lay prostrate, or had lost their crowns; 

The dawn would mean renewal of the strife. 

The princess, Anacoana, sought to cheer 

Her parent, bade him seek the cool land breeze 

Upon the shore. Her countenance was grave 

Beyond its wont; yet from her fingers flowed 

Electric waves of courage to his heart. 

"What is it, daughter, well-beloved, that makes 

Thy hand so potent? I can feel my heart 

Expand with youthful strength! What hast thou seen?" 

"In my short slumber, following storm, I dreamt 
This morn to meet a king in very deed 
Who will be king forever unto me: — 
I saw him on this shore! — Behold my King!" 

Bahama looked what way her glorious eyes 

Stared raptured! On the shore beheld he band 

Of Caribs! Trembling, frightened at the thought 

Of danger to his daughter, he had turned 

And hastened back. Restraining him, she said: 

"Good sire, fear not. That noble Carib chief 

Is royal soul I saw this night in dream! 

Spare him, and those his warriors. They will turn 

The tide of battle in thy favor. See 

How bravely face they fate, that little band! 

Their war-canoe a wreck upon the bar. 

They look for death on this far shore, yet give 

No sign of fear, all firm resolved to die. 

If Tuyra will, though fall not unavenged. 

Spare them, I pray! Let us advance, and bid 

Them welcome. They are brave, and though we two 

Are unaccompanied by warriors. 

No harm they mean us." 

24 



And the prudent king, 
At first though loath to trust the dreaded race, 
His daughter's words, and looks, and fearlessness. 
Gave courage to him: "Come, I deem it wise 
As merciful." 

The two walked slowly on. 

The Carib Chieftain and his men, amazed 
At such display of coolness, and of trust 
In them: "Behold!" The Carib Chief exclaimed: — 
"The King, and Anacoana, 'Golden Flower'! 
They surely must be royal! No base-born 
Dare trust their life to me as they two trust! 
Behold the sun new rising on the hills! 
More glorious far than his, that woman's face! 
Methought this sun-rise had but signalled death 
To all of us. Canoe a wreck, so few 
Against a myriad, what end else presage? 
But now I know it shall not be. Behold 
The Princess, Tuyra showed in dream to me! 
I scarce can credit sense of sight! And yet , 

Of certainty I know she will be queen 
To me! This angel in the flesh! This flower 
Of gold, as Haitians call her, loving her, 
This poet, minstrel, fairest maid the world 
Has e'er produced, Bahama's latest born! 
Oh Tuyra! Is it true? Or do I dream? 
Great Tuyra! Grant it may be true, or grant 
That I shall never wake from this sweet dream! 
She prays her royal sire to spare our life! 
I read it in her face, — her eyes, — such eyes! 
The brown eyes of the Haitians, — but the fire! 
All other eyes I ever saw, lack life! 
Her eyes, expressive of her every thought! 
Her queenly form! Her face, in every line 
Perfection! But those eyes! The eyes I saw 
In vision e'er I sailed! Fair maids I knew 
In Bouriquin, — and loved, as men will do; 
Yet never could I fix my heart on them. 
They call me fickle 'Tis not true, — I could 
Not find in them a soul so great as I 
Desired in her who some day should beget 
My Higuanota, — 'child of perfect love'! 
The King would speak with us. Throw down your spears!" 

25 



Bahama, aged sovereign of Xaragua, 

Spake these words; "Brave men, we welcome ye! 

'Twas fortunate ye landed on our shores. 

We know your race, yet harbor nought of ill 

Against the victims of the hurricane. 

We scorn to take advantage of a foe 

Mischance has wrecked upon Xaragua's coast. 

Misfortune makes ye friends. We welcome ye. 

Abide with us; our land is rich and wide. 

If ye would make our realm your home and choose 

Ye wives among Xaragua's daughters, — they 

Are fairest in all Haiti, — choose ye wives, 

Select ye fields, make this your future home." 

Great Caonabo thus: "We came, 'tis true. 
With hostile purpose, as Caribs always do; 
But Tuyra willeth otherwise. We will 
Abide with ye, make this our home and choose 
Us wives among your race. 'Tis Tuyra's will." 

LEO GREGORY. 
D«c. 20, 1913. Hotel Montagne, Port au Princt, Haiti. 



A«ar0ana 



(Gionabo'f LM»t Vision of Home Before Hit Death at Sea, A Prieoner on Board 
a Spanish Caravel) 

Her smile, Inspiration ; her kiss is a vision of bliss ! 
Not blinding, her beauty; attracting, refreshing, refining. 
Uplifting, — entrancing! — love's coy invitation to Eden. 
Her ministry, soothing as first bom's tiny fingers 
On her first naked bosom; — thistle down alighting 
Upon waters; rose leaves falling upon velvet. 

Some loves exhaust, depress, becloud, enfeeble; 
Her love, stimulant as vintage of the Rhine! 
Her love in flash transforming nectar given 
Into force dynamic, Infunding voltage 
Meted only by the strength of heart-walls. 

Cell, cell-speared, soul-quicked, wraps she in love; 

Her breast atelier, — God and she co-labor 

Slowly, nine moons— deftly, sweetly fashion 

Nature's image in Creation's Spring; 

The best in me, the best in her, — all I 

Adore in her, all she adores in me, — 

Her hopes, her dreams, ambitions, making real 

The ideal, — building me a future, — makes 

Me live anew, — Thank God! in Higuanota! 

LEO GREGORY. 
N»o.4.1913. Hotel La Satte, Chicago. Ill 



27 



fongan^ 



The lovliest vale in this fair isle, 
My heart's first choice, is Leogane; 
"Twas here, the home of the royal palm, 
The dearest life to me, began. 

Bahama's latest, best loved child, 
Anacoana, "Golden Flower," 
Nature's minstrel. Queen of Song, 
Was born in Nature's favorite bower. 

What time thy pure lips first drew breath, 
The nightingale sang sweeter song; 
The Southern Cross more brilliant glowed; 
The East Winds crooned as they glided along 

From the hills to the ocean, on thy birth morn; 
More delicate blue wore the waves of the sea; 
And proud palms lowered their royal crowns, 
Angelic soul, in greeting to thee. 

Here first thy maiden eyes beheld. 
In victim of a tropic storm. 
The man who measured up a king 
In every line of face and form. 

The proudest sons of grand old Spain, — 
Columbus, first of Italy's great: — 
Felt honored here to be thy guests. 
Participant in royal fete. 

Here, envy of that greater man. 
Unfounded fear of treachery. 
Made base Ovando damn his soul, 
In turning feast to tragedy! 

Crude instruments electric, tuned. 
Though far as pole from pole, apart, 
Can fiash each other messages: — 
In tune, heart speaketh unto heart. 

28 



The human soul, G-od's last, best work, 
Such fineness hath, — so sensitive! — 
Nor space, nor death, can intervene, 
Relationship preventative. 

No idle fancy then to feel 
The influence of thy presence here: — 
I walk a king, for that a queen 
Smiles benison, to my heart's cheer. 

'Neath mourning palms of The Chateau, 
The holiest spot on earth to me. 
My wish, at last, the lonely grave 
Of this most lonely heart to be 

LEO GREGORY. 
Dec 26, 1913. Hotel Montagne. Port au Prince, HaitL 



29 



^mtx 



Fair Haiti! A caed mille faelthe this morning to thee! 

Full oft in youth my fervent prayer had been 

To visit this eden, romance and history made scene 

Of Anacoana's triumphs, — and tragedy! 

Whose beauty ravished Colon's heart to ectasy. 

Not strange the Antilles willing call thee Queen; 

And Ocean, acquainted with many, enamoured, I ween, 

Of superlative charm, calls thee Pearl of The Sea! 

Yet find I picture fancy limned, surpassed! 

The heart of the Cid, the Troubadour's tongue, the Nile 

Queen's blood and beauty, in Haiti's children seen! 

But generous Heaven's greatest gift, this last, — 

The mortal dust, — immortal dust! — Loved isle, — 

Of Colon, Anacoana, Desselinnes! 

LEO GREGORY, 
Dec. '28. 1913. Hotel Montagne, Port au Prince. Haiti. 



NOTE — "Caed mille faelthe" is an Irish expression which means "A hundred 
thousand greetings." Colon, Spanish for Columbus. L. G. 



30 



I. 

"The day is waning, mother dear, 

The night is stealing on; 
Come, talk into this graphophone. 

Before the light is gone." 

II. 

"What shall I say?" — "Oh, anything!" 
"I cannot, dear," — "I do beseech!" 

"The chill of earth is in my blood; 
Age hath not ready speech." 

III. 

"Then sing some old-time lullaby, 
You used to sing to me; — 

Or say some prayer, — you always pray." 
"I'll say a prayer for thee." 

IV. 

Forgetful of the instrument, 

She voiced a fervent prayer. 

And spake her heart's petition 
As if her Lord were there. 

V. 

She prayed for parents, — like a child; — 
She prayed for "father," dead; 

She prayed for "sister" and her babe; — 
Then, bowing low her head, 

VI. 
She prayed for me, her wayward son: — 

"God bless my darling boy! — 
Bless him, the flower of my old age, — 

My latest grief, — and joy ! " 

VII. 
Emotion flushed her pale, sweet face, 

As sunset crimsons snow, 
When graven roll repeated true 

Her voice, so soft and low. 



31 



VIII. 
The lips that spake that prayer are mute, 

Her heart has ceased to thrill, 
But Menlo wizard's art preserves 

Her living accents still. 

IX. 
Were I to lose all I possess, 

I'd smile without a care, — 
Could I but keep the precious roll 
That voices mother's prayer. 

LEO GREGORY. 



32 



5Ilf0 (&nmnn Kiv-Mnn 

A hundred bird-men had flown to Chavannes; 

For Pegoud was dead, — The King of The Air! 

Killed in a duel above the clouds: — 

"May his soul rest in peace!" — his comrades' prayer. 

Chanted the plaintive Mass of The Dead; 
Sweetly the Benedictus was said; 
Tearful the Absolution was read; 
"Have mercy, Lord!" the CurS plead. 

A shot! A shout! And every one starts! 

The roar of a war-plane! "A German!" "En haul!" 

Ten air-men rush to their planes, and mount 

To punish the heartless or hare-mad foe! 

The enemy comes with the speed of the wind; 
Then circles, and drops what seemeth grenade; 
"How wantonly cruel! On such a day! 
Of what is the heart of a German made?" 

"It does not explode! — Pray what can it be?" 
They carefully open the packet, — and lo! 
A wreath of immortelles, — and billet: — 
"To the noble dead, from his German foe." 

LEO GREGORY. 
Elgin, III.. September 22. 1915. 



33 



SSutij anil iErtn 



Prologue. 
Dear children of Erin and Ruth! Ye ask me to sing 
Ye a song. I'll do it. I'll sing to the strains of the harp, 
The instrument dear to the exiles of Erin and Juda. — 
A bit of a secret: — Come Lady's Day, six years ago, in 

Ratana, 
I stood on the spot where my dear Irish mother, — God 

rest her! — 
Was bom! Some cousins were with me. How I wished 

they were not! 
I was dying to throw myself down and kiss the dear sod! — 
I didn't! Ashamed I was; thinking the cousins might 

laugh. — 
God help us! The best inspirations of grace often fail, 
Because human respect, pride, or vanity weakens our will! 

It was there the day, I found this ancient harp. 

In the Fairy Circle, the spring of a hound from the stile. 

It was made by a Cherub for Jubal, in springtime of the 

earth ; 
King David twanged it when prophets chorused the psalms ; 
It was gift of the fairies to Dubtach at Tara, what time 
He was christened by Patrick. Both prophet and bard 
Were cousins of mine; so I claimed their harp as my own. — 
And listen! — The spirit inspiring the Hebrew and Celt, 
In the ancient days, every now and then whispers to me! 

This old harp, as ye see, looks the worse for the wear, — 

in the frame: 
But the strings! — Each a spirit of music from God's harp 

that wings 
To my own, and gives to my human song heavenly tone. 
Faint echo of anthems of cherubin round the White Throne! 

Ye put me the query: Why is it that God Who is just, 
Seems to shower His best gifts on other races of men, 
Much younger than our royal lines, and less noble?" 
I'll tell ye; — or rather the spirits of music, the strings 
Of this harp, will answer in song that will gladden your 
hearts ! 

34 



Song of the Harp 

Two daughters of the Orient: elder, Ruth: — 

Black eyes: for sunny climes know deepest shades; 

Her velvet skin, subdued October gold; 

Her soul as pure as the diamonds that shone in her crown. 

Young Erin's eyes were blue; for she was born 

On voyage to Inis-Fail, Island of Destiny: 

The depth of the ocean, sapphire blue of the skies, 

A fire-opal spirit, — her beautiful Irish eyes. 

Her cheek, pink of sea shell, translucent milk of the pearl. 

Both sisters were crowned with tresses, luxuriant, black: 
Ruth's writhing with passion subdued of her virtuous soul; 
Erin's, undulant tresses of mermaids disporting in sea. 

Sweet Ruth found a mate in Judea, and ever abode 
In the land that had given her birth. 

Her father had seen 
A vision of future glory in the West 
For child to be born, a daughter; — heard a voice 
Which bade him take his spouse, fecund of love, 
And follow in galley the course of the setting sun. 
To an island the fairies made half and half Eden and 
heaven. 

Ruth lived happy with spouse, now king in place of her 

sire: 
Royal blood of two rivers, the consort of a king, 
She was queenly in beauty and culture, in speech and in 

mien. 
As Sara, her ancestral mother, Gerara's king. 
In a nation of beautiful women, thought most fair. 

When Erin was born in sight of the headland of Bray, 
Quean Mab, whom God had sent to accouchement, gave sign 
To Oberon, Fairyland's King That night, to win 
From Titania, reluctant, sweet favor, he whispered the 

news. 
The mother instinct made her generous: 
She sent an emerald pendant, birthstone of May; 
She prayed him bid Triton sound Conch to smoothen the 

sea; 

35 



Prayed him summon the Sylphs, Elves, Orends and Trolls, 

The Nixies, Niads, Banchees, Undines and Merrows. 

They all came rejoicing in chorus to welcome their queen! 

Father Ocean, royal in blue, ermined with foam; 

The Mountains in silken sheen, and crowned with oak- 
leaves; 

On Valleys, rich robes of green velvet, gaily flowered 

With poppies, that flashed like red Mars in the soul of the 
Celt. 

Ruth's children were ever the favorites of Yahweh: — 
Faith gave to their minds added vision that pierced through 

the veil 
Of the mundane, and dimly saw angel hosts ranked before 

God! 
That vision has left an impression on souls of her off- 
spring 
Which never has faded. It makes them superior to fortune. 
Prosperity genders not pride, only makes them more grate- 
ful- 
Knowing the Author. Adversity cannot obscure 
That vision supernal, they know to be future home. 

God focused Egypt's lore in the Waif of The Nile; 

Inspiring him write the creation story for men: 

Evolution through uncounted eons of time 

Of elements cosmic, obeying Creator's law, 

Develop rhythmically into universe; 

Astonished, he saw God breathe into matter, life; — 

Ascending choirs of flowers, and birds and beasts; 

He saw Creator smile when He made man; 

Saw woman blossom, flower of Adam's love. 

The crowning glory of the universe! 

King David voiced full gamut of man's faith. 
And hope and love; his son. King Solomon, 
Hath epigrammed all wisdom in his words. 

Ruth's fairest daughter, Mary, virgined Christ, 
The God-man, summit of humanity! 
As all eyes in Campagna turn to dome 
Of Peter's Temple, — turn, and turn again: 
As Colon's crews on first famed voyage, stared 
At flaming Teneriffe — in hope, — in fear, — 
Uncertain whether augury, or portent; 

36 



As emigrants to Golden Gate, admiring 

Pause at foot of Colorado's Peak: — 

So Christ compels the gaze of all mankind; 

The cynosure of ancient faith and hope; 

To later cycles, Cross of Southern Seas. 

A frequent occurrence, child mis-understood 

And rejected, proves best of the brood and the pride of 

his blood: — 
Cast off by his own, as Joseph his forebear was. 
He loves them still, and blesses from afar. 
They are his bone and blood. Some day, when they 
Kneel suppliant at His throne,— like prototype. 
Forgetful of their sin, His high estate, 
His human heart will open to embrace: — 
Despite of faults, the premier race of men. 



Two thousand years, the noble sons of Ruth 
Are scattered o'er the earth: no home: they live 
By tolerance contemptuous of inferior men; 
In Ghettos, persecuted, shorn of rights 
By nature due them:— dear to Yahweh still. 
Observant of His decalogue, they live;— 
Yea; leaven with their virtues every land. 



As Ruth in Orient, so Erin was 

To western world the oracle of God, 

When Roman Patrick stood at Tara's throne, 

And limned the Christ, and echoed code He taught. 

The Celt intuited a brother, bent 

A ready knee in reverence. As a spark 

In harvest field of fertile Ratana 

Enkindles prairie fire as swift as wind; 

Or flint-spark of huntsman on Wicklow's forest-clad hills. 

Rolls in billows of flame that leap at the frightened skies:— 

So the grace of the Crucified blazed in the soul of the Celt! 

Five centuries, Scotia shone "Island of Savants and 

Saints"; — 
Dark Ages, when locust hordes swarmed over Europe, 
Destroying the Empire of Rome,— Erin's sons were 
Life-sparks new kindling the mind and the heart of the race. 



37 



Erin's day of glory ended in black night. 

Ten centuries of discord, — treachery; 

And consequential servitude to race, 

Whose sons and daughters once had served in halls 

Of Irish Chieftains: w^ars and famines drained 

Prolific mother of red-blooded men, 

The like of Brian, breaking at a blovf 

The back of Danish giant on Clontarf: 

Every hill and mountain wearing ruined crown 

Of ancient glory, — castle, fort and abbey; 

Millions martyred for the faith of Christ! — 

Ten latest chapters writ in tears and blood! 

Above the clouds, is sunshine; blackest night 
Hath stars. What Rome was to the ancient world, 
Britannia is today. As sons of Ruth 
Made Roman Empire Christian, Erin's sons 
Spread Patrick's faith wherever England's flag 
Flies dominant in Empire girdling earth. 
Where conquering Briton marches, shadows Celt; 
For Erin's cross, G-od blesses England's crown. 

Oh ye children of Ruth and of Erin, lamenting sad fate 

Of your noble houses, know: prophet of blessing is pain. 

Lest wealth and power, too long enjoyed, might gender 

Pride and luxury, precursing death; 

As He permited Satan buffet Job, — 

So, weeping, God consented, new world-lords 

Rob Jew and Celt of pristine royal circumstance, 

Himself preserving substance, royal hearts; 

Gave faith and fancy wings to waft their souls. 

When sorely tried, to realms of hoped-for love: 

The spirit world as real to them as earth: 

Where grosser, earthy natures suicide, 

A Jew or Celt kneels down like child to pray. 

Or takes his harp and sings his griefs away. 

Good blood will show in horses, sire in son: 
The child of Hebrew peasant counsels kings; 
The bairn of humble Celt is Kitchener: — 
In neither instance, miracle; the race- 
Horse blood was there; occasion revealing the king! 

38 



The Lord has been good to ye! Glory was yours in the 

past! — 
The best things in life not denied to ye now! — 
Your blood demands ye be royal unto the end! 
Henceforth, sing peans! No more threnodies! — 
Let these gallant young heroes, — American, Teuton, and 

Jap, — 
Unenvied by ye, take command in new battle of life! 
The Father of nations wills it; and He knows best! 

LEO GREGORY, 
July 10, 1915. St. Joseph's Academy, Adrian, Mich. 



39 



A Srttrr 



The maid hands me a letter: 
I start, and cease to sing: 

She wonders why I tremble 
At such a common thing. 

She cannot have a sweetheart. 
Or she would surely know 

Why one of many letters 
Could agitate me so. 



LEO GREGORY. 

1904. 



40 



Father Ryan, the poet priest of the South, 

Once lived in Tennessee; — 
Well, here is a story told of him. 

As an old man told it to me: 

A Baptist congregation there, — 

I cannot remember the place, — 
Had engaged an exhorter to preach to them. 

For they felt the need of grace. 

When the day of the great revival came, 

And hundreds from far and near. 
Had pitched their camp in a shady grove, 

The evangelist failed to appear. 

To say they were disappointed that day. 

Is using expression too mild; — 
Then some one suggested the "Poet Priest": — 

And that Baptist camp went wild. 

They threw up their hats and clapped their hands; 

"We must get him to come if we can!" 
A cripple in faded gray cried out, — 

"By God, he is just the man!" 

Father Ryan, you know, was Nature's child, 

Like every true poet who sings: 
But gauged by the measure of common men. 

He was apt to do queer things. 

He had won the heart of the chivalrous South, 

By singing "The Sword of Lee"; 
His "Conquered Banner" had conquered the world. 

By the breadth of its charity. 

Just like him, he answered the Baptist call. 

Without a moment's delay; 
He only thought of the good he might do, — 

Not what his Bishop might say. 

But Bishops have rules; and all agree, 

There must be discipline: 
And priests are often forbidden to do 

Many things that are not sin. 

41 



The Bishop admired the zeal of the priest; 

He disapproved of his ways; 
So he sent him a letter, which briefly read: — I 

"Suspended for forty days." 

A few weeks later, the Bishop received 

A note from the Poet Priest: 
"Dear Bishop: We pray you would deign to come 

On our Blessed Lady's Feast." 

When the Bishop drove up, the appointed day. 

Imagine his surprise; 
The village church was packed to the door, 

And tears were in many eyes. 

"What does this mean?" he sternly asked: 

"What do you want me to do?" 
"My camp-meeting folly," the old priest said; 

"They wait baptism. Bishop, from you." 

The Bishop stood up at the altar rail: — ■ 

"Dear friends, your pastor was right; 
"Father Ryan will give you the sacrament. 

And I'll be his acolyte." 

LEO GREGORY, 

1910. 



42 



®tf? I|uman 



The human, globe-round human, is my thefne. 

In vista, sixty centuries flash to mind! 

Had sex or color, clan or faith confined 

My sympathies, less noble would I deem 

Myself and mission. — Human! — Ah! I seem 

At once akin to greatest of mankind! 

In all their grand achievements I can find 

A reason to rejoice, and hopeful dream 

My soul shall wing to peaks they could attain, — 

Because I am a brother: — like them, seed 

Of Adam. What my kindred could, I can! 

Henceforth, I sing humanity: — the brain. 

The heart, achievement! Under tribe and creed 

And caste, — the human, — most sublime in man! 



LEO GREGORY. 

June 17.1915. 



43 



I have done wrong. Who has not done? — 
But I have done some good; 

And more of good than ill, I trust: — 
I did the best I could. 

I made a vow upon a time, — 
In grace, my second birth, — 

Each day to bring sunshine with me 
To some dark spot on earth. 

And I have tried to keep my word, 

In gratitude to Heaven, 
And ever shared with lowliest 

What God to me had given. 

The homes of culture and of wealth 

Were open to my name; 
Association with the great 

Would make me share their fame. 

If I shunned homes of happiness, 
'Twas not from choice, be sure; 

But that I felt my duty called 
To sick and lowly poor. 

There have been days, and not a few, 

When it was hard to be 
The messenger of hopefulness, 

"SMien I no star could see. 

How could my breaking, bleeding heart 

Bring unto others cheer? 
How could I bid another love, 

When I felt only fear? 

It was my wont in those dark days 
To watch the children play; 

And catch a gleam from their bright eyes, 
And hurry me away. 

To sick, and poor, and sad of heart: — 
They said I brought them light: — 

'Twas but reflected glory, such 

As diamonds give at night. 

44 



And I perforce must leave again. 

Before they guessed the whole, — 

Before the borrowed light they saw, 
Had faded from my soul. 

And going home, my weary feet 
I feared were failing me: 

And I have cried: "Oh, why. My God, 
Hast Thou forsaken Me?" 

Why is it that a generous soul 

Who sings a high ideal. 
Is called a hypocrite by those 

Who only see the real? 

To cherish high ideal, means 
High striving of the soul, — 

A noble act, which God accounts 
An effort for the goal. 

Men only crown the victor's brow; 

But God, who knows the will. 
May count the vanquished in the fight 

A greater hero still. 

Was good I did the less sincere, 
Bceause I failed in part? 

Not hypocrite, but human, friend, 
Describes an erring heart. 



LEO GREGORY. 

1902. 



45 



(EatlimnF 



A beautiful actress, years ago, 

Excelled in the role of a queen; 
And the royal traits of the character played, 

In a grand-child now are seen. 

For the images sketched by the intellect, 
And approved by the heart with its seal, 

Will some day become realities: — 
The ideal createth the real. 

A wealth of the lovliest auburn hair, 

Caressing her forehead in curls; — 
Her cheek has the pink and the white of wild rose; 

Her teeth are a string of pearls. 

Her brown eyes flash bright as the lightning at night, 

Under lashes, languishing, dark: — 
Her lips are the gates of the morning; 

Her laugh is the song of the lark. 

She's the prettiest girl in the convent. 

The cleverest pupil in class; 
A rolicking imp on the play ground, 

A seraph, during Mass. 

As graceful and lithe as a young gazelle; 

As free as an eagle on wing; 
As ready to smile and as ready to weep. 

As an Irish sky in spring. 

But her chiefest charms are hidden from sight, 

Eluding the pencil of art: 
What wins her the love of all who know, 

Is the genuine ring of her heart. 

A secret why she loves Uncle John. — 

Why that sudden gloom in her eyes: — 

They were wove in the woof of her soul before birth, 
By the angels in Paradise. 



46 



The love and the sympathy felt for him, . 

By her parents, that sad year, 
And the gloom of his spirit o'ershadowing them. 

In the child then born appear. 

So he calls her the child of his sorrow. 

And loves her as if his own: 
And she loves him, and feels his gloom; — 

The reason to her, unknown. 

Dear little sweetheart, Catherine! — 

How we miss her, now she is gone! — 
She was sunshine and flower and song of birds. 

In the home of her Uncle John. 

July 2, 1910. 



47 



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